behold, Mrs. Trapes was back yet once more, this time grasping a much
battered but more bepolished dish cover.

"Mr. Geoffrey," said she, "I ain't good at thankin' folks, no, I ain't
much on gratitood--never having had much to gratify over--but them
candies is goin' to be consoomed slow an' reverent and in a proper
sperrit o' gratitood. And now if you're ready to eat your supper, your
supper's a-waitin' to be ate!"

So saying, she led the way into the parlour, where upon a snowy cloth,
in a dish tastefully garnished with fried tomatoes, the English mutton
chop reposed, making the very most of itself; the which Mr. Ravenslee
forthwith proceeded to attack with surprising appetite and gusto.

"Is it tender?" enquired Mrs. Trapes anxiously. "Heaven pity that
butcher if it ain't! Is it tasty, kind of?"

"It's delicious," nodded her lodger. "Really, Hell's Kitchen seems to
suit me; I eat and sleep like a new man!"

"So you ain't lived here long, Mr. Geoffrey?" queried Mrs. Trapes,
eagle-eyed.

"Not long enough to--er--sigh for pastures new. Don't go, Mrs. Trapes,
I love to hear folks talk; sit down and tell me tales of dead kings
and--er--I mean, converse of our neighbours, will you?"

"I will so, an' thank ye kindly, Mr. Geoffrey, if you don't mind me
sucking a occasional candy?"